


Pillowtalk

by lwtmehome



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Happy Ending, I hate them but I love them, M/M, harry is too, liam is a softie, louis isn't that much, niall is a softie, you love them too, zayn wants to make amends, ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 11:18:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8325718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lwtmehome/pseuds/lwtmehome
Summary: Zayn isn't feeling it anymore, the lyrics aren't running into his head like they did two years ago. His co-writers are getting impatient and the release date of Mind of Mine is getting closer. Something is blocking his creativity and maybe his will of life. or, Zayn needs to go back to London to face his demons, like, right now.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **I DON'T OWN THE CHARACTERS AND THIS IS WORK OF FICTION.**
> 
> The story is mine, tho, please don't copy it or post it to any other website, thank you.
> 
> Inspired by Zayn's song _Pillowtalk _.__

_They say you can only fall in love after you’ve learnt to love yourself. Zayn doesn’t believe that, however. He knows better._

 

”Alright, alright. How about ’I’m seeing the light, I’m seeing the pleasure’? That could work, right?” Levi’s expression reveals how close the man is to giving up, how frustrated he is. 

His eyes are red rimmed from staying up for over 24 hours, which is exactly why it pains Zayn to say what he does.

”It’s not what I’m trying to say.”

Levi’s shoulders slump down and he lets his forehead hit the table. The air is thick in the studio and Zayn has had a killing headache for hours now, but he can’t give up on the song now. The others had left him and Levi ages ago to go to sleep, but Zayn had refused to leave. For some odd reason Levi had stayed behind, helping.

They had been stuck on this song for weeks now. It isn’t a complicated song, really. Not musically, anyways. And if you asked anyone else besides the writers, people would say the lyrics aren’t deep or meaningful either. 

But they are, for Zayn.

Which is the exact reason they’re still stuck on this song, this one song that was made a single the minute Zayn gave the raw draft to Levi.  
The album is supposed to come out in a couple of months, which theoretically means that Pillowtalk is supposed to drop in couple of weeks. Zayn doesn’t think they can do it.

”Look, man. I get it, this song is special to you, we’ve talked about it. But maybe it just won’t make it to this album. You haven’t announced any song titles yet, we can just put it on the next album,” Levi doesn’t seem to be even convincing himself, making it even harder for Zayn to listen to this voice of reason.

”I can’t put it off, the release of this song. It’s important, it’s sending a message.”

Zayn gets up from the worn down couch and puts his coffee mug on the table. He knows he’s making his co-writers writhe under the pressure of the approaching deadline, but this song is something else.

”Let’s just call it a night. It’s way past 4a.m. anyways. It’s not like we’ll come up with the lyrics at this hour,” Zayn suggests giving a pat on Levi’s back.

They exchange quick goodbyes before Zayn pulls his black leather jacket on his grey sweater and steps outside in to the winter air. The streets are relatively quiet for the little hours of Friday, but it gives Zayn an opportunity to drive in peace. 

The studio isn’t that far away from his apartment, but the break is much needed. 

_Pillowtalk_ isn’t a special song, not in the way _Strong_ was for Louis. _Pillowtalk_ is a message, like a love letter, and Zayn really needs to hit the nail in the head with this one. He knows people will automatically link the song to Perrie, but that’s their problem.

The ten minute drive passes-by with Zayn tossing himself around his tiny mind, tiny mind full of song lyrics – lyrics that seem to have failed him, lyrics that he’s been mulling over for years now. Three years, to be exact.

He parks his Rover in the parking hall of his building and takes the same old elevator upstairs. Only now he can feel the fatigue catching up to him: his throat feels a little sore, his eyes hurt when he looks up and the bright lights blind him, his body weighs a ton more than it did a little over a day ago.

The elevator pings and Zayn steps out. The lights in the hallway are dimmed, someone sent him an e-mail about that. Something about saving the nature, but Zayn can’t really remember all that clearly.

His brains seem to be shutting down, and all he can think of is _finally._

The lights are out in his apartment. Of course they are, there’s no one waiting for him. Zayn tosses his jacket on the rack, the rack he got from IKEA when he moved to LA. He doesn’t really even like the rack, but he just needed something to fill the apartment with.

That’s what his mum said, at least. 

In Zayn’s opinion a bed, a fridge and a TV would have done it, but he guesses this is fine too. 

He takes a quick shower, cleaning off the dirt of the past days, before he collapses into his king sized bed – alone. 

It’s not that often that Zayn feels a little lonely. He grabs his other pillow and hugs it to his chest. It smells like detergent, clean. It doesn’t please him.

Yeah, maybe he misses Watson a little. That big fellow filled his empty bed whenever the best choice wasn’t available. And at least Watson loved him unconditionally.  
The slightly bitter thoughts are lurking around the corners of his mind again, poisoning the last of Zayn’s nice thoughts about London, about his past life.

Well, no.

That would be a lie. 

There will never be a thought big and bad enough to poison everything related to his old life. Sure, his best mates for years haven’t contacted him in months and sure he sort of got himself messed up the day he signed the stupid X-Factor contract, but at least he’ll have the songs.

Whenever Zayn feels like he made the worst choice ever by getting into the band, all he needs to do is sit down in front of his piano and play. The songs, the lyrics and the melodies, have been dancing inside his head for years. 

All the pain and all the happiness is restored in those songs. He can’t do much of anything else than thank his fucked up life for the songs. But that’s not all, because indeed, there were happy times as well.

Which brings his thoughts back to _Pillowtalk._

A frustrated sigh escapes from Zayn’s lips. As hard as it is to admit that the one song he’s got the best memories tied to isn’t happening, he might just have to. 

The song isn’t about sex, no matter how many times Levi makes jokes about that, no matter how many times he’ll have to re-write the lyrics, it’ll never be about sex.  
Zayn knows this, and he wants the audience and above all, Liam to know. If Zayn can’t feel the real deal while listening to his own song, then how could the fans or Liam feel it. 

He turns to lie on his back again, allowing his lungs to expand as he breathes in. Thoughts of Liam start to circulate in his mind, jumping around and making noises like piano tiles being played in a random order.

They almost, just almost, make a beautiful sound.

\---

A day later, Zayn is back in the studio. He’s still a bit exhausted, Levi and the others are too, but that’s not the issue.

”You’re saying you’ve got a blockage?” Anthony rubs his forehead, not even looking at Zayn.

”I got to get out of town for a couple of days. Don’t know what fumes I’ve been breathing, but they’re messing with my thoughts,” Zayn tries to reason, even though he knows it’s not helping. The guys are even more tired than him.

It’s silent for a while, the others exchange glances and nothing happens until Anthony nods his head. 

”Look, Zayn. I don’t think it’s gonna help you, man, but you gotta do what you gotta do. This is your song, but we only wanna help you. Just get it together and come back with some fresh ideas,” Levi pats his back twice, before they all flow out of the room. 

_I don’t want any fresh ideas. I want the old ones back._

It’s barely two o’clock when Zayn is already sitting on a plane, heading towards London. Some would call it a rash decision, but for Zayn it’s just a Sunday. 

”Hello, sir. Could I get you something to drink? A coffee? A tea?” A flying attendant asks him with a plastered smile. 

”No, thanks,” Zayn attempts a smile, but it gets lost in his own misery. 

The woman leaves, and Zayn almost grabs her hand, just so he could ask for her to sit next to him and maybe hold his hand. 

He does want to go to London, maybe achieve something, he’s not sure what, but it doesn’t mean he’s isn’t nervous. He feels like the insides of his stomach are flipping, but that’s not the worst part at all.

Zayn is very well aware that where as the others hadn’t contacted him, he hadn’t contacted them either. It had been a ridiculous power play ever since he left, for them at least, it seems, but for him the stakes had been so much higher. 

A stupid fight had lead them to this, all of them, and it was 50% Zayn’s fault, he knows. 

”Excuse me? Miss,” Zayn calls out as the same attendant is walking past him.

”I would like a scotch now, please,” the smile is a bit more real this time. 

\---

Needless to say, Zayn hadn’t booked a hotel, nor had he contacted a single friend before he left LA. This seems to turn in to a bit of a problem, once he’s gotten his bag and safely exited Heathrow. 

He can’t call his parents, they’d be worried sick if they even got a hint of him being back in London after such a long time. Especially after Zayn had had a so called ’mental break-down’ when his mother had suggested for him to visit them in England. 

Zayn goes through his contacts until one of the names catches his eye. He hesitates for a second or two, but not long enough to think it’s a bad idea.

”My eyes must be doing tricks or I’m high, because this can’t be _the_ Zayn calling me, can it now?” 

Zayn smiles, even though he does hear the slight taunt in the man’s voice.

”Ed, nice to hear your voice too,” Zayn doesn’t mean to, but he’s kicking at the ground with his right foot and his other hand is fiddling with his hair.

”I’m sorry to bother you like this, but I just landed in London and am kinda without a place to stay. I wouldn’t be asking you but,” it’s hard to finish.

It’s not like Ed doesn’t know. He must be the person Niall, Louis and Harry all vented to. Ed’s just that great of a guy.

”But you screwed over everyone who ever loved you, here in London. I get it, say no more, man. You do know I’m not in any way obligated to let you crash, though?” 

”I do, thanks so much, Ed. I’ll definitely repay you,” Zayn has to let out a sigh of relief, and hit himself a little for thinking that Ed would turn him down. 

”Yeah, we’ll see about that,” there’s something about the words, or the mood, but Zayn can’t pinpoint it, because Ed sounds just as happy as he always does, ”The address is the same. Catch a cab.”

_Here we go then._

\--- 

Turns out that by ’repaying’ Ed had meant to go to a party. Or more like a small get together, which would be fine, with any other person than Ed.

Zayn likes Ed. Ed’s the kinda guy you’ll never get bored with, drunk or sober, but this is the guy who knows all of Zayn’s old friends and is very close to his old band. The whole way to the party Zayn fears what, or whom, he’ll see as soon as he steps inside. 

It all turns out to be for nothing though, because all of the people are unknown to him. 

They all seem nice enough, a little bit older than Zayn is, but nice anyhow. They drink a few and surprisingly enough play some video games. Zayn isn’t exactly sure why Ed wanted him to come too, but he can’t really ask. 

Somewhere after midnight he steps outside on the balcony for a smoke, only to be followed by Ed himself. 

”You’re not enjoying yourself, I can tell,” Ed says before Zayn can protest. 

”Got me,” Zayn laughs dryly, shrugging. 

They smoke in silence for a bit, both inhaling deeply, letting the smoke destroy their lungs bit by bit. It’s almost peaceful.

”What brings you to London?” 

Zayn can’t blame Ed for asking, he wouldn’t. But it’s still hard to explain, especially when he’s not that sure himself. 

”A blockage, I think,” Zayn inhales once more time and throws the butt in the jar that’s lying on the floor. 

Ed hums, lighting his second cigarette. 

”I’d like to think you’re talking about a song, but I’ve got the feeling this is about something else.”

Ed won’t say it, Zayn knows. Not out loud. He’ll want Zayn to say it, to go through his emotions himself. Ed’s a wise guy after all.

It’s a little chilly outside, but Zayn isn’t cold, really. For some reason London feels warmer than LA ever did, even though the temperatures aren’t even close to each other. 

”It’s about a song,” Zayn says and Ed raises his eyebrows, ”but also about something else, I think. I’m just trying to figure out what.” 

”I think you know, man. You should talk to them. I know they miss you, even Louis,” Ed has the same smile on his lips as always, the one that makes Zayn think that the guy has  
lived a hundred lives before this one.

”Actually scratch that. Especially Louis.” 

The laugh that leaves Zayn’s mouth is a genuine one, though a bit watery. 

”Yeah, I know he does. I miss him too,” Zayn nods, more to himself than anyone else.

”But he’s not the one you came to see, is he?” Ed doesn’t wait for an answer, he just leaves to go inside.

People rarely do that to Zayn, because usually he’s the one doing it to others. It feels overly dramatic, but also a little comforting. Maybe someone for once knows what he should do better than he does.

Ed is right in the sense that even if Zayn felt like he needed to come back to the place where he came up with the first lines of _Pillowtalk_ , it doesn’t seem to please him anymore. 

For some reason it isn’t about the song anymore as much as it is about the people the song is about. 

Zayn has been incredibly successful at avoiding the void inside him: throwing himself in the process of getting a proper record label and pushing his ideas through, recording the songs – just everything. It has been fairly easy, all in all, but he guesses it was unavoidable. No matter how much he doesn’t want to meet the people he left hanging, to put it simply, it might be the only thing he’s been dreaming of since he permanently moved to LA.

To meet Louis, would be the hardest, Zayn had thought for a long time. Louis is the one he let down the hardest. Not by leaving, necessarily, but by not telling about his feelings, his anguish. Louis is the kind of a person that takes it to the heart when his close friends or family don’t feel like they can open up to him. 

But it all changed as soon as Zayn realised that Pillowtalk isn’t coming out of his heart and mind like he had pictured it. And he had pictured it, for so long. He never had the lyrics, not all of them anyways, in his mind, but never, not for a second, had he thought that he wouldn’t be able to pour the song on the paper in mere hours.  
It’s been months now. 

”Hey, Z. We should go,” Ed’s voice says from inside the apartment, pulling Zayn out of his rather daunting thoughts

”Coming.”

Suddenly he doesn’t feel like leaving though. Somehow knowing that stepping out of that door is bringing him closer to his own destruction. 

\---

The sweet smell of strong coffee floats in the air, invading Zayn’s sense of smell, practically pulling the man out of his restless sleep and guiding him to Ed’s kitchen. 

”I smell coffee,” he murmurs, flopping down on the black, leather bar stool. 

Ed doesn’t say anything, just grunts and pours Zayn a cuppa. It must still be early, since it’s still rather dark outside, something like eight o’clock, Zayn thinks. Ed’s scrolling on his phone, silently smiling here and there, and somehow even though they’re not speaking, Zayn feels more home than he has in a long time. 

Having another human being there when he wakes up seems like ages ago, and if Zayn had his cozy, fuzzy sweater with him he’d pull it on and make a nest of blankets and pillows in the corner of Ed’s small, patched couch and not move the whole day. Ed seems to have different plans, however.

”H is coming over around eleven. If you want to clean up before, I’d suggest you do it now,” the older takes a sip of his coffee and just glances at Zayn from under his uneven eyebrows.

Zayn nearly chokes on his coffee.

”Harry? No mercy then, huh,” it’s a statement of a doomed man, but it makes Ed laugh either way. 

”I wouldn’t say so. I could have gone easier on you and call Niall, but that bastard would’ve cried. Like, ugly cried. I think Harry can give you a little perspective, he’s got that guru vibe,” Ed waves his hand around and about, still not really lifting his gaze from his phone.

It doesn’t soothe Zayn at all. Harry is the gentlest of all of them. He’s also the most understanding, probably. Maybe after Niall. But Harry is also the youngest. He’s the person 

Zayn told last, and Harry had seemed so young in that moment. And Harry had been through a lot of shit, somehow Zayn had thought that Harry would get it the best; the need to get out, to just go.

He hadn’t.

”I know, but ’im being a guru doesn’t make it any easier, mate,” Zayn sighs, very much counting the hours he has left.

Ed finally raises his head and kind of tilts his head to the side a little bit. He seems to be assessing the situation, reading Zayn or someting just as poetic. It makes Zayn quiver. 

”What?” 

”Nothing. I’m just trying to figure out the puzzle that is Zayn Malik. Think I just lost another piece,” Ed sighs a bit dramatically, but winks at Zayn. 

Zayn remembers why Ed and Harry are such good friends.

”So,” he coughs, ”you don’t mind if I take a shower?” 

”Not at all, help yourself. I’ll cook something nice so we can have an early lunch with H. I’m thinking something like veggie pizza.”

Zayn leaves Ed to ponder over the lunch and slips into the bathroom. Even after becoming such a famous singer, Ed has kept to his mediocre life. The flat he has isn’t huge. It has two bedrooms, but the guest room is going through a renovation at the moment, so Zayn had bunked on the couch for the night. Ed doesn’t own a proper dining table, which is why he never hosts any dinner parties. In Zayn’s opinion not having to host dinner parties is the reason Ed never got a table, and instead settled on the kitchen island with four bar stools.

The bathroom isn’t huge either. Just a shower, small countertop and a toilet. Nothing special, but screams Ed’s name. The stickers stuck on the cabinet hanging above the sink are collected from all the festivals Ed has visited in his life, and there’s dozens of them. The latest one seems to be some sort of a small band’s sticker from Bergenfest in Norway.  
Zayn takes of the t-shirt and the boxer briefs he’s wearing and steps into the shower. Despite being a small flat, it’s still modern, which Zayn is rather glad for. He is a spoiled celebrity in that sense; he enjoys his comforts. 

He lets the water just flow for a moment, collecting his messy thoughts. Having Harry come over could be the best or the worst possbile thing. It’s not that Zayn very afraid to see Harry, because Harry will always be Harry. He’ll come to understand Zayn’s decision at some point and he’ll forgive him.

What Zayn really is afraid of is that Harry will tell him that Louis, or even worse Liam, have both decided not to have anything to do with him ever again. It’s moments like these when Zayn has to backtrack a year that make him feel completely powerless and spent.

They make him wonder _how_ did he do it. How did he leave his best mates hanging like he did. How could he just walk out on them, in the middle of a tour. And was it worth it?  
Right now it doesn’t feel like it. The only song he really wants to finish isn’t coming along and instead he’s coming to realise that he’s actually lonely, not just at night but all the time. 

”Zayn? Are you just running the water? That shit’s expensive, pal. Not all of us make millions and millions of pounds a year,” Ed’s lecturing voice carries through the door, pulling a chuckle out of Zayn.

Right. Maybe he just really needs to get his shit together.

\---

Harry comes ten minutes early, as expected. The knock is slow and lazy, a painfully familiar one. 

”Wait,” Zayn takes a hold of Ed’s arm as the ginger gets up from the couch to go and open the door. 

He gives Zayn an expectant look, raising his eyebrows as if he’s asking _what, are you scared._

And hell yes Zayn is scared. He’s petrified, ready to jump out of the window and this is the bloody fifth floor. Eventually Zayn lets go of the older’s arm, just because it’s getting a little weird.

He jumps up from the couch, trying to make himself presentable as if it was the Queen herself who’s going to walk through the door. Ed pats his shoulder once, not very comfortingly, but it’s something.

Three deep breaths and then the door closes behind Harry.  
Zayn can faintly hear Harry’s low murmurs from the hallway, but they’re speaking too quietly for him to hear. His palms feel sticky and he has to wipe the sweat on his jeans. It’s ridiculous, honestly, because Zayn has never been more nervous if you don’t count the time he had to get up on that stage the morning he performed in the X-Factor for the first time. 

Few seconds pass and Zayn swears those seconds last for minutes, before Harry’s familiar face comes in to view. He’s got the familiar crease on his forehead and his eyebrows are scrunched, his lips in a thin line.

Zayn isn’t sure if he just imagines it, but he feels like Harry’s stiff posture eases up a little once their eyes meet, but nonetheless, a feeling of relief runs through his own body as soon as Harry is standing there, fully in front of him, all real and just mere couple of feet away.

”Hello,” Harry’s slow drawl feels like a pang to Zayn’s chest. 

It feels like a blow of yesterday’s wind, like an ocean’s wave’s salt that gets stuck on your skin and you can smell it for days. It feels so familiar, Zayn could cry.

”Hi,” he breathes out instead.

A couple of seconds pass in silence, Harry fidgeting with his rings and Zayn standing absolutely still.

”Oh just hug, for fuck’s sake,” Ed gives Harry a small push, but it’s Zayn who takes the strides towards the younger and envelopes him in a big hug.

Zayn might be smaller in size, more petite and shorter too, but Harry is like a huge baby. He slugs into Zayn’s arms, his fingers taking a hold of Zayn’s t-shirt, tightly gripping the material and somewhat bitterly Zayn thinks it feels like the last time they saw, the last time when Harry had pleaded for him to stay. 

There’s something different about this hug though. It’s a bit more insecure, a bit more like a question, not a plead. Not a demand either, just a small question: _can I hold on?_

”I missed you so much, H. I missed you like crazy,” Zayn’s throat feels tight, but he won’t cry. 

This isn’t the hardest thing he’s ever done nor is it the hardest thing he’ll ever do. He still has to face Louis. And Liam. 

But he feels like crying.

”I missed you, too,” Harry says after a while and then pulls back to look Zayn in the eyes, ”Have you lost weight?” 

The tension is still in the air, but Zayn can’t help but laugh. He can’t stop the giggly sound escaping his lips, not even when Harry pouts and scrunches his nose a little in distaste. 

It feels too familiar, too much like his old life.

”I might have lost a pound or two,” Zayn admits after he gets his breathing evened out. 

”We better eat then,” Ed’s voice interrupts them, his head peeking from the kitchen.

Zayn hadn’t even noticed he had disappeared in the first place, but indeed his empty stomach is grumbling, still going with last night’s meal, him not having been able to get a single bite down after Ed’s announcement. 

They move in the kitchen and all take a seat, Harry pointedly sitting across Zayn, next to Ed. It does feel a bit like a slap on his face, but Zayn won’t let it get him down.

At first Ed is the one to keep the conversation going: he asks about everyday stuff like how’s the album coming and how are their families. But as their eating pace slows down, 

Harry starts speaking up more. 

”I’m glad Ed called me. Were you planning on telling us? That you’re here?” Harry’s tone is serious and Zayn knows this conversation has to happen at some point.

He nods.

”Yeah, I think so. I didn’t come here for that, to be honest, but I think I was planning on it all along,” Zayn admits, taking a bite of his pizza. 

Harry nods too, seeming to think about something really hard. As he doesn’t say anything, Zayn decides to push him along a little.

”Look, H. You can ask me anything. After the stunt I pulled last year, I’m willing to answer any questions you have, I want to make up at least for something, anything,” Zayn has the urge to reach out for Harry’s hand, but the wounds are too fresh for that, he thinks.

”I know. I always thought I’d like to ask you why,” Harry smiles a little and Zayn is already opening his mouth to answer, but Harry keeps going, ”but you already told us why, when you left. So instead of asking you any questions I guess I just want to know you’ll be there from now on. I want to know that all of the promises we made years ago haven’t turned into dust, even if things have changed since then.” 

Harry is looking at Zayn with distress in his eyes, with worry evident in his posture and just everything around him. It hurts, Zayn can’t deny that. He never wanted to hurt people, but he did.

”I want to be there for you, and the promises, H.. They’re all true, none of those things have vanished or anything, I still want for us to be there for each other, of course. I’m just—” 

It’s not easy to voice his thoughts after everything. It’s not easy to come back and face the biggest mistake of his life, bow to it and then make people forgive him. It feels impossible, it feels like he can’t do anything to make it right. There are no words big and convincing enough to convey his feelings, no actions to prove it in this moment how sorry he is, how wrong he was. 

And still make the people he hurt understand that the decision he made wasn’t the wrong decision, not for him. He just acted it out in the wrong way.

”You’re sorry. I know, Zayn, we’ve known each other practically since we were kids, I know. I still know you and it overwhelms me that I do. I had these scenarios in my head that you’d turned into a completely different person, but all I see is grey hair and the true you, the you you never got to be while you were in the band. I can’t be mad about that,” Harry speaks slowly, pressing every word even more than he usually does. 

His eyes are shiny, he could cry, but he doesn’t.

”I made the right decision, Haz. I’m sorry I made it the way I did, truly, I am. I can’t make you believe I’ll never do anything wrong again, because I will, probably. But I can guarantee you, I will never repeat the mistake I made back then. That much I can do,” this time Zayn does reach over the table and place his hand above Harry’s. 

Harry doesn’t cry. Zayn doesn’t either. Ed might shed a few tears, but he does that on the balcony under the disguise of going out for a smoke. He comes back with slightly red eyes.

They talk for a long while, they hug a lot and Harry tells Zayn about his and Louis’ situation, he tells Zayn about Niall, but he only mentions Liam, and Zayn knows he does it so that Zayn doesn’t have a reason to just run back to LA without facing the man.

Harry almost spends the whole night, but Louis keeps bombarding him with messages and he has to leave. The younger manages to convince Zayn to meet up with Louis too, just the two of them. Zayn promises to show up if Louis just is willing. 

After Harry leaves, they smoke a couple of fags with Ed and talk about music. Zayn can’t stop thinking about Liam.

\--- 

Harry and Zayn didn’t agree on any certain date when they would meet again, but Zayn took a wild guess that it would take at least a day or two to get Louis to see him. And sure enough, it takes two days for Harry to contact him again.

During those two days Ed took Zayn around with him to meet some of their old friends, people Zayn had heard from every now and then, people who weren’t as big of a part of his life as his touring crew or the lads.

He does get to see Lou and Lux, though, and seeing them gives him a little bit more hope. Both of the girls smother him with hugs and kisses: it’s like he’d been gone for a couple of weeks at max.

The hopes die, effectively, just before Zayn is set to meet with Louis and Niall. Change of plans occured, according to Harry. Louis had refused to meet Zayn on his own, something Zayn thought to be a bit odd considering it’s Louis they’re talking about, but he won’t complain.

Zayn hopes Niall will make the atmosphere a little less hostal and bit more welcoming.

It doesn’t happen. 

They meet at Niall’s flat, and the first thing that Zayn notices is that it’s exactly like it was the last time he came here, except there’s a couple of new guitars hanging on the back wall. Niall is the one to open the door, and even without looking at him, Zayn can tell he feels awkward.

It makes his rapidly beating heart all but settle down.

They barely speak as Zayn gets rid of his jacket and shoes, Niall is polite enough to wait for him in the hallway, though. Even though Zayn knows this flat like the back of his hand, Niall guides him to the living space.

And wow. 

Zayn and Louis had been best mates ever since the band was formed, and Zayn likes to think he knows all of Louis’ manners, habits and expressions, but just about now he might have to admit that he doesn’t.

Louis isn’t exactly scowling, which he usually does when he’s somewhere he doesn’t want to be. He’s not pouting, but instead his lips are pulled into a thin line, his facial expression otherwise completely void of any emotion.

Louis doesn’t do that. He’s one of the most expressive people Zayn knows. _Zayn_ is the one who keeps the pokerface on no matter what. 

”Uh,” right, great start.

”Harreh told us you wanted to see us. So, what’s up?” Niall flops down on the couch, next to Louis.

His tone screams casual, but his body language is telling a different story. Zayn has to swallow, he has to try and gulp his uncertain feelings down in to the pit of his stomach. 

These are the people he toured for four years, the people he spend five years with. 

But also the people who were there for him when things got really tough. The ones who dragged him out of the gutter when he and Perrie had broken up, when Zayn had made it easier by saying that it was all for the public, that nothing had ever been real. 

These were also the people he let down, left behind and didn’t even glance back. Not if you ask them, at least. 

”I,” there’s no words, nothing. 

Zayn doesn’t know how to approach this. His head is pounding, his hands clammy. He’s never been good with apologises or tough situation. Running away has always seemed better, easier. He can feel the panic rising, his lungs hurting and his breathing quickening.

Zayn tries to calm himself, collect his scattered and uneven thoughts. _Calm down, don’t freak out now_. Zayn feels like Louis won’t give any value for his efforts, it makes him feel even more anxious. Niall’s looking at him with confused eyes.

”Are you alright?” Niall’s voice sounds distant, Zayn’s breaths getting quicker, not bringing in any air anymore.

Louis snaps his head up, just in time to catch Zayn’s legs giving out. Niall jumps up from the couch first and rushes to Zayn.

”Hey, mate, Zayn,” Niall puts his hand on Zayn’s shaking shoulders, and even though Zayn’s vision is getting blurry, he can still picture the worry in his friend’s eyes.

The tears aren’t voluntary. They fall out of his eyes, dropping down on his cheeks, making his long eyelashes stick together. The tears seem to be the thing that triggers Louis though, as the older also finally gets up from the couch and crouches in front of Zayn. 

”If this is an act, be sure that I’ll fucking kill you, Zayn,” Louis speaks with a strict voice, but it’s gone as fast as it appeared, ”What’s going on? Can we help you?” 

Zayn’s lungs are burning and he’s hyperventilating: the words aren’t coming out of his mouth, and his hands feel numb already. He shakes his head, defeated and ashamed. Even with his jumbled up thoughts he can’t do much but tell himself how he can’t get things right. 

Two of his best mates - used to be best mates - are sitting at his side, seeing him collapse, crawling on the floor and sucking in desperate breaths. It feels like an all-time-low, like he would be admitting that leaving the band was a shitty decision, that he is actually a coward, afraid of facing his own mistakes. Which he _is_. 

Zayn's lungs are on fire, the flames are licking up his throat making every breath painful. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing for himself to calm down, to let go of the negative thoughts, to gain the control of his body. 

Louis and Niall are both rubbing his back and supporting him with their bodies, and eventually Zayn’s breathing starts to slow down, get easier and smoother. His eyes are prickling and his hands don’t have any feel to them, but he can talk again. 

”I’m sorry,” it’s more of a croak, really, but it’s understandable. 

”It’s alright. Was this one of those panic attacks?” Niall asks, but Zayn just shakes his head.

”I didn’t mean the attack, just,” Zayn motions around them with his hands, trying to make them understand. 

They do.

Nobody says anything, and Zayn feels embarrassed. And feeling embarrassed in front of these exact people makes him feel stupid and makes him remember his mistakes, highlights the memories. 

Louis helps him up after a while of them just sitting on the floor, saying absolutely nothing. Zayn’s knees feel a little weak, but he’s calm, feels a little better even though Louis is staring right into his soul.

”You look like shit, man,” Niall says after a minute, patting Zayn’s shoulder.

It might not seem like much, but Niall is smiling at him, his blue eyes twinkling a little. He doesn’t remove his hand from Zayn’s shoulder and for a moment Zayn just wants to jump into his arms and cry, properly ugly cry. 

He doesn’t. 

”Thanks, Niall,” he says instead, chuckling. 

”Don’t worry about it. All of it,” the blonde lad pulls Zayn in for a side hug, planting a sloppy kiss onto his cheek, ”You’re part of the family, Zayn.” 

And bloody hell if Zayn doesn’t feel like crying. Niall was always the one he was protecting from the cruel world and nasty comments, yet here he is, in Niall’s arms getting petted and hugged for comfort.

”Thank you,” Zayn whispers, giving Niall a waver-y smile. 

Louis coughs and pulls out his pack of cigarettes, ”Now if you ladies don’t mind, I’d like a fag,” his tone is bored, but not monotonous, never that, ”you joining me?” 

He glances at Zayn as he makes his way towards the balcony, a cigarette already between his lips. Zayn doesn’t even think twice.

”I’ll make some tea,” Niall calls out after them before he disappears in to the kitchen.

Zayn closes the door to the balcony after him, pulling a fag out of his own pack. Louis lights it for him, then leaning on the railing. Zayn’s too afraid to say anything, his throat still itchy from the rapid breathing and his mind still a tad jumbled up. 

”Aren’t you going to apologise? Crawl a little?” Louis side-eyes Zayn, ”Reckon that would be fun.”

Zayn shakes his head, facing down at his feet and takes a drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke out much too quickly. He turns to look at Louis, who’s still facing forward,  
looking over the buildings surrounding them. 

”I don’t think any apology is good enough. You’re my best mate,” Zayn shrugs, his brows knitting together. 

He gnaws at his bottom lip, his fingers maybe holding on to the cigarette a tad too hard. Louis’ expression doesn’t seem to change, doesn’t even flinch, but his eyes showed hesitation, wondering. Zayn would know that look even if got an amnesia. 

”I thought Liam was your best mate,” Louis chuckles bitterly, ”not that you treated him any better.” 

And yeah, _ouch_. Zayn should know that if someone were to bite him, it would be Louis. 

”It’s different. Isn’t Harry yours, then?” Zayn tries to bring some teasing into his voice with no success, really.

”He is. And I would never do anything to hurt him,” Louis’ voice is like ice, his eyes finally turning to face Zayn. 

”I don’t hate you, Zayn. I just don’t get you, alright,” Louis shakes his head, his lips in a thin line. 

Zayn faces downwards again, wringing his now empty hands together so hard it hurts. He knows he hurt Louis, probably most out of all of them. If Zayn could go back in time,  
Louis would be the first person he’d tell about his anguish, the first person he’d go to for help. 

But he can’t turn the clocks.

”I—,” Louis starts and takes a look at Zayn’s frame. Zayn can see the flutter of Louis’ eyes in his peripheral vision, but he doesn’t look up, can’t bring himself to do so. 

”I needed you, you know. You had been my partner in crime for years, since I was fucking eighteen years old, Zayn. When I came to you, drunk and crying like a fucking baby, you fed me pizza and listened to my ranting about how shitty my life is,” Louis’ voice cracks a little, ”You forced me to drink water, you smoked a joint with me when I felt like I needed a boost. You stood up for me and held me hand when I thought Harry didn’t want me anymore.” 

Zayn can feel the sting in his eyes again, but he wills for the tears not to fall. Louis is fidgeting with his hands, his mouth slightly open. Louis can’t speak because he’s swallowing down his tears, past the lump in his throat. 

”And, well. Who was I supposed to go to when you, my fucking rock, left, huh? I felt like I was astray, alone with all of my friends collapsing around me. I didn’t know who to help first, because I needed advice how to get through it myself. But when I turned, I realised you weren’t there,” Louis’ cheeks are wet, his voice shaking just enough to be noticeable.

Zayn can’t hold himself together as well, small whimpers escaping his lips and his hands grasping the railing. He hides his face by nuzzling in his arms, shaking his head slowly, muttering something incoherent, trying to apologise or at least say something to comfort Louis, but he can’t.

For the past year or so he’s been able to trick himself into thinking he had no choice. Zayn had told himself that the lads would be much better off without him weighing them down. He had brought lots of negative publicity for the band because he was feeling so shitty and he just figured he’d be doing a favour to all of them by leaving.

He had never allowed himself to think about the possible destruction he’d left behind. Never willed himself to think about Louis or his feelings, not after he’d got punched by the said man. Louis had cried and screamed at him, told him to get lost that he wouldn’t need Zayn. 

Zayn had believed him, just to keep it together.

”Lou, I, I’m sorry,” Zayn sputters, tears staining his face, ”I was feeling so bad, and I know, I fucking know it’s nothing but an excuse, but I needed to get out. I did wrong, towards all of you, but especially you. I wanted to call and come back, but you told me not to.”

Zayn lifts his face from his arms and bites his lower lip so hard he thinks it might bleed. Louis blinks a tear out of his eye and grits his teeth. 

”I didn’t mean that. What are you, stupid?” he hisses. 

”Yes. Stupid, selfish. I wanted to call, I wanted to come back even, but I couldn’t. I felt like I was being suffocated when I was in the band,” Zayn shakes his head again, trying to even his breath. 

Louis lets out a shaky breath, ”I’m sorry, too, for what it’s worth. I didn’t know you were having panic attacks and wanted to get out so bad. I should’ve,” Louis’ eyes show regret, hurt. 

”You couldn’t have. I never told anyone. I just wanted to be strong, for once,” Zayn takes a brave step closer to Louis, reaching out but letting his hand drop.

”Is the grass greener then? Are you happier?” Louis asks, his voice quiet and his eyes cast away. 

”I’m healthier. Lonelier, too,” Zayn admits with a dry smile, shrugging. 

Louis licks his lips and wipes away the tear tracks, nodding. They stand there silent for a moment, both weighing Zayn’s words, whether they are good enough or not, whether they are true enough. 

”You fucked up, big time,” Louis announces, his voice firm but not accusing, ”But it’s not like I haven’t fucked up meself. Harry would probably nag me to death if I went home and told him I didn’t give you a chance,” he chuckles. 

Zayn blinks, ”Does this mean that you’ll, like, talk to me again and stuff?” 

”Eloquent, Malik, truly,” Louis snickers, smirking at Zayn.

Then he pretends to be thinking, his eyes narrowing in concentration.

”I’ll answer your calls and maybe go for a pint if I’m in LA and have nothing else to do, yeah.” 

Louis’ joking is always a good sign, and even though Zayn probably shouldn’t grab his arm and pull him into a bone crushing hug, he does. He nuzzles his nose into Louis’ hair, smells it and laughs wetly.

”You’re golden, Tommo,” he says amidst his laughing, earning a small punch to his arm. 

Louis does answer the hug, his petite hands wrapping around Zayn’s small frame, his nose sinking in Zayn’s neck. Louis feels safe and exactly like he felt the last time they hugged. He feels alive and warm, like Zayn’s former life in one human being. 

”I know I am. I’m also undeniably pretty,” Louis sighs into Zayn’s neck, making them both laugh out loud. 

And yeah, maybe Louis is pretty, but he’s also a rather amazing personality. Vulnerable but strong, like a warrior. 

Niall’s head peeks to the balcony, his smile fond and eyes soft. ”Hey lads, wanna have that tea now?” 

”Yeah, sure,” Zayn nods, reluctantly releasing Louis. 

”D’you think we should hold a party for this?” Niall asks as they slip inside.

”Absolutely not,” Louis deadpans loudly, making Zayn and Niall laugh.

As Niall and Louis bicker with each other, Zayn sitting around the table and watching. The situation feels natural, almost like they never even spent time apart. Zayn’s heart is swelling with something like joy, the only nagging thought in his head reminding him about the challenge yet to face.

He pushes it away easily enough, already having had practice. For now Zayn wants to focus on his friends, the people he owes so much to: owes time spent together, wants to be the person who listens to their stories and tell them what they mean to him through small gestures. 

He just wants to be here.

\--  
Zayn doesn’t plan it to happen the way it happens. He doesn’t get the chance to prepare himself, doesn’t get the chance to think over the words he’s going to say. 

Ed and Harry take him to a small get-together a couple days after Zayn made-up with Louis and Niall, only because apparently Zayn is the picture of worry. Harry was afraid he’d gnaw off his nails if he’d spend one more hour inside the house.

It’s not like they can blame Zayn for it, though. When Zayn had asked Harry how Liam was doing, all he got was incoherent mumbling and mutters under Harry’s breath as a response. It didn’t exactly make Zayn feel confident.

At first Zayn had been really glad to get out of the flat: the air was crisp in the best possible way, the late winter wind freezing away the nasty city heat that Zayn had never enjoyed. The people in tha party mostly consisted of his old London friends: Jesy and Perrie, Josh, Jon and some other people. 

All of them took Zayn back with pretty much open arms, except for Perrie, which well. It could be considered human behaviour. They did chat for a bit and all in all they’re both just happy for each other. Zayn apologised for at least hundred times, but still.

It’s not until he sees Sophia that it all goes to hell. Sophia is beautiful as always, her hair and skin both perfect in the wild kind of a way, her posture screaming ’I’m over my ex and his douchebag friends’.

”Zayn? Hi, I didn’t know you were here!” Sophia’s hug takes Zayn by surprise, but he reacts quickly and pats the girl’s back.

”Yeah, hi. I- Well, I needed to sort out some business, so,” he shrugs as they separate.

Sophia’s smile seems to be plastered on, something Zayn will never hold against her ever again. He couldn’t afford that. 

”So, have you seen Liam yet?”

A heart attack would be the best possible example to demonstrate Zayn’s feelings in that moment. Surely Sophia means in general, right? Surely Liam isn’t here, at the party. 

Surely.

”Uh, no, not really. I mean, I just guessed he’s outta town, or something,” cold sweat is rising on Zayn’s skin, and suddenly the room feels much too small and stuffy. 

He needs to get some air. 

”No, no. He’s here, I think I saw him in the kitchen a while back,” Sophia is glancing over her shoulder with her brows furrowed, ”I think I can find him for you, if you’d like?”

Okay. So, Zayn needs to get the hell out of this party. 

”No, don’t. I mean- no. He must have better things to do. I’ll just,” Zayn gestures towards the front door, poorly disguising his discomfort. 

Understanding flashes in Sophia’s eyes, her lips pulling in to a tight smile. She gives Zayn this look, the same looks Zayn used to get from everyone close to him after they found out what a coward he actually is. 

Zayn doesn’t bother to stay and hear the usual lecture about standing behind his words and actions, instead he rakes the room with his eyes, trying to spot Harry or Ed somewhere. 

He can see Ed lounging on the couch with his head on Josh’s lap, a joint in his left hand. He hastily says his goodbyes to Sophia and makes his way a little further in to the apartment, towards Ed.

”Ed. I’m heading out.”

”Already? Alright, see you at the flat then,” Ed waves his hand lazily, and so Zayn strides towards the door. 

His heart is pounding like crazy, blood and adrenaline pumping through his veins. _Three, two, one_ , and he’s out the door, unharmed, no panic attacks or running in to Liam. He closes the door behind him, leaning on it for a while.

It’s dark already and colder than before, but the breeze only calms Zayn down. So close, he thinks. He knows he’s a coward, he knows Liam probably knows he’s in town by now and also thinks he can’t face the other. How pitiful.

”Zayn?” 

And _no._

For a second or two Zayn’s sure the pot has somehow weaseled in to his brain, made his brain a little mushy or something, because this can’t be happening.

The air is cold, he’s not in the house anymore. He must be dreaming, must be having one of those nightmares again.

Slowly, painfully slowly he opens his eyes.

”Liam.”

With an incredible a speed Zayn’s eyes and brain catch on everything: Liam’s beard, his slightly empty brown eyes, the snapback and familiar black leather jacket. 

It’s him. 

”You, uh, are here then,” Liam’s scratching the back of his neck, a sure sign he’s feeling awkward, thinking about taking off. 

”Yeah. Here I am.”

Wow, what a witty response there. Zayn can feel his hands getting a little numb, but he decides he needs a cigarette. With much difficulty he picks up one from his pack and offers Liam one too, but the other declines.

”What brings you to London?” Liam doesn’t seem to be able to face Zayn properly, his eyes trained on every single other object around them, except the silver haired man.

_You._

”Ah, well. I’m having a bit trouble with one of my songs and I thought, well, what better way to bring back the inspiration than to come back to the place I first got it,” Zayn wants  
to pat himself on the back for managing a full sentence without stuttering or messing up.

”Oh. So, the album then? Coming on well?” 

Liam’s chit chatting. He doesn’t want to talk to Zayn, Zayn can tell. It does feel bad, but it’s not like Zayn can complain or anything. He’s not entitled to do so. 

”Yeah, just this one song I’m having trouble with. Might not make it to the album,” Zayn admits with much regret, even if Liam can’t understand the meaning of the song, or much of anything else either. 

They stay silent for a while, Zayn smoking and trying to digest this completely surreal moment. It doesn’t seem like Liam wants to talk about everything or anything, really, but Zayn didn’t really drag his ass to London just to finish the song.

And even if he did, he’d have to face Liam, because Liam is the key for this song, this lock in his mind. He stumps his cigarette in the ground and walks down the stairs, closer to Liam. Liam finally picks up his head. 

”Mind taking a walk with me?” 

Something flashes through Liam’s eyes, but it’s gone so fast Zayn can’t pick it up. Then he just nods gingerly, offering a small smile for Zayn. It feels like a small win, but Zayn can’t bear to feel happy, full-well knowing Liam’s just doing this to be nice.

Because that’s how Liam is. 

They pick a random direction and just walk along the walk path, not really minding where it takes them. Zayn thinks Liam knows he wants to talk, maybe even wants to hear him out. Maybe.

”Are you alright?” Liam asks then, and at first Zayn thinks it’s to break the ice, but Liam’s eyes seem to show genuine worry.

”Yeah, what do you mean?”

”I heard from Louis that you had a seizure or something. Was wondering if you’re sick or summat,” Liam shrugs, not quite looking at Zayn.

The words make Zayn scoff, not at all surprised to hear Louis had said something like that.

”Louis was exaggerating. Not a seizure, just a normal panic attack. The whole apologising wasn’t that easy, so,” a forced laugh to accompany the words.

Liam doesn’t say anything, Zayn’s too afraid to look at him. It’s silent again. 

The pavement is a little snowy, a luxury (some would say) they don’t get every year. It’s not going to be there for long and Zayn quite likes it too. For now he thinks maybe he should make it into a conversation, but this other part of him wants him to just get to the point, to try and talk it out.  
It hurts Zayn how awkward it is between them, it hurts him how Liam leaves space between them, but he doesn’t have the right to feel that way. Liam is in no way obligated to be 

Zayn’s safe haven anymore. 

”The song,” Zayn abruptly starts, breaking the silence like a hammer breaking glass, ”it’s called _Pillowtalk._ ” 

Zayn can practically hear Liam inhale, and he can see Liam’s head snapping up, towards him. Liam’s not really subtle, at all.

”I had the idea a couple of years ago. Around the time I left Perrie, namely I mean. I thought I had never felt anything like it, the feeling I had right after, talking with- well, you know,” Zayn can feel his cheeks blush, but he can’t stop talking.

”Anyways. I had the words in my mind. Not as a whole, but enough of them to make it into a song. But I can’t grasp them anymore, they’re sort of slipping away. I can’t remember the feeling that well anymore.” 

Liam’s eyes are widened, his mouth agape. Okay, granted. Zayn could have probably done this in a little bit more subtly, but when he gets nervous, he rambles. Not his fault. 

”Right, yeah. I know the feeling, sure,” Liam nods, Zayn wonders if he’ll break his neck with the speed he’s doing it at.

”How are you planning on getting a hold of the words again? I mean, well,” Liam coughs, vaguely gesturing around them, very, very awkwardly.

It feels absurd. All of it: them walking around together, talking about _Pillowtalk_ and the things that led to the song. Hell, only the fact that Liam hadn’t completely refused to talk to him was a miracle. Sure, it was awkward and not smooth in the slightest way, but Liam was still there, not throwing ugly words at Zayn, not telling Zayn to leave him alone. 

”I don’t know, to be honest,” Zayn laughs, ”I guess I thought it’d be enough to just, like, see you and let the gates open, I don’t know. I guess I was being a bit delusional.” 

Liam’s brows knit together as he halts, taking a hold of Zayn’s wrist. And yes, there it is. The sparks, the warm yet chilling feeling running up his arm, tugging at his heart. It’s a simple, completely non-sexual touch, but it makes Zayn feel so much.

He can see Liam’s dark room around them, he can see Liam’s hesitant eyes from the very first night, the night they had both abandoned all reason they had in their heads, right in front of him. He can feel Liam’s body, his breath and the certainty in all of his movements, even when it all was so fucked up.

”You’re not delusional, Zayn,” Liam sighs, his thumb stroking Zayn’s wrist gently, ”You’re stupid, a complete fuckwit, yes. But not delusional. You’re an artist, alright. All means are allowed to reach the perfect outcome, yeah? Though, please don’t kill anyone, that’d be hard to take, even if it’s you.” 

Liam’s eyes has the familiar spark in them, whether it is there for a moment or a lifetime, Zayn doesn’t care. Under the street lamp Liam looks a lot more younger than he actually is, a lot more like he used to look like four years ago. 

”Would you help me bury the body?” Zayn asks, his eyes prickling, though he ignores it. 

Liam smiles at him and lets go of his hand.

”Is there anything I wouldn’t do for you,” it’s not a question, it’s a quiet murmur coming straight from Liam’s soul, from somewhere deep, somewhere Zayn once reached with his hands. 

”I’ll bury the hatchet, if you want to,” Liam then says, a tad louder. 

His eyes look more alive, not sparkling but Zayn guesses he can’t really have it all. His heart is beating rapidly either way, his eyes and ears – let alone his brain – not believing what’s happening. 

As Zayn looks at Liam, the yellow light illuminating his face, drawing sharp shadows under his cheek bones, he realises he’s spent the last year wallowing in self-pity and forgotten what _Pillowtalk_ was originally about. Or _whom._

”I’d be stupid not to take that offer, Liam. You are way too good for this world,” Zayn shakes his head as he offers a watery smile to his friend.

The very same friend who taught Zayn so many things about being in love, about feeling so deeply of someone that nothing feels like anything anymore after you lose them. The same friend who had tucked Zayn in to bed one night and fucked him the other. The friend who never hates anyone, even after that someone had absolutely crushed everything in his wake, including that friend.

”Don’t get sentimental on me now, Malik,” Liam chuckles, and Zayn thinks his eyes are glistening too, a bit.

”Yeah, fuck no, sorry,” a wet laugh follows.

Zayn can feel his lungs expanding when he breathes in, late winter air filling him with something new yet something that has been there around him all along; a reminder of his past, the good one and not the dull, aching one he’s been so tangled up in over a year now. 

Liam is standing right in front of him with bright eyes, sweet smile and his hands stuffed in his pockets. Zayn’s cheeks are prickling from the cold, but he feels warm all over. 

”Should we head back? It’s bloody cold out here,” Liam suggest, already turning to where they came from, but Zayn takes his hand.

”I’m hungry,” he blurts, his voice sounding panicked even to his own ears. 

Liam is still for a second before he just smiles, his eyes crinkling. Zayn knows Liam possesses this weird centuries old wisdom when it comes to relationships, to people, something  
Zayn pretends to possess, but really doesn’t. Or maybe he just gets Zayn really well. Anyhow, Liam sees right through him, Zayn bets.

”Of course you are. McDonald’s then?” 

With ease, Liam intertwines their fingers as if it’s something they do every day. Zayn can feel his cheeks heating, but he enjoys the moment. 

Him and Liam, they were never really simple. The sexual tension had been there ever since 2012, every since they had both realised hugging isn’t enough, that it doesn’t convey their feelings. They had both been dating at the time, Zayn mainly for PR, but Liam and Danielle had been in a serious, committed relationship.

They never made their relationship official, him and Liam, never came out to their bandmates or parents like Louis and Harry had done. At first it was between the two of them, no one seemed to notice any difference, but as they started fighting more about stuff like their girlfriends, it got more complicated. People noticed, knew about them, but no one ever said anything. 

It had always been between them, in a way. It wasn’t a secret, not really. People knew, most of them anyway, but it wasn’t a topic open for discuss. Perrie knew, even though she never said so. The sex between them just stopped and Zayn figured she’d understood what was going on. 

Zayn had often wondered if they would have made it through his leaving if they had made it official like Harry and Louis. Maybe, maybe not.

”Think you’ll be able to finish the song?” Liam asked after a while of comfortable silence. 

Zayn had nearly forgotten about the song. He shrugs and squeezes Liam’s hand a little tighter. It is warm. 

”I’d like to think that I will, yeah,” he then said, nodding.

They walk in silence, just because. The sound of late night traffic and wind around them, it feels like home. It feels familiar, but not in the painful way anymore, necessarily. It feels like an opened memory box, like the box Zayn has in his head. A box full of lyrics, including _Pillowtalk_ ’s lyrics. 

”I might need something more to stir up the memories,” he mumbles with a smirk after a while, kicking the little snow on the ground with his foot.

Liam squawks and bursts into laughing, nudging Zayn with his elbow.

”Cheeky.” 

Zayn smiles wider, a warm burst of joy travelling through his body like a shock wave. It had been difficult to face Harry, Louis and Niall and he would’ve never guessed that seeing Liam would turn in to this: into smiles and laughs and jokes.

They reach the McDonald’s, a familiar one to both of their surprise.

”Isn’t this the one—,” Zayn blinks, amusement already pulling up the corners of his mouth.

”Yeah. Yes!” Liam laughs loudly and drags Zayn in to the building. 

It’s nearly empty, save for the two workers and one drunken couple sitting by the window. 

”Two Big Mac meals with diet cokes, please,” Liam has already pulled out his card when Zayn begins to looks for his, ”It’s on me.” 

Zayn doesn’t argue, just lets Liam pay and take the tray to a table. They only get their fries, having to wait for the burgers. It doesn’t bother Zayn, though, he’s just glad to be here at all.

”So, this is _the_ McDonald’s,” Liam waggles his eyebrows at Zayn, already laughing and munching on his fries.

”This is awful, I’m pretty sure one of the worker’s recognized us,” Zayn hides his face behind his hands, giggling like a child. 

As he peeks through his fingers, Liam is smirking at him, his teeth showing and his eyes crinkled the way Zayn loves. 

Just when Zayn is about to comment on the smirk and the stupid night they visited this particular McDonald’s before, a person is bringing them their Big Macs.

”Here you go, your burgers,” a lady places a tray on the table and offers them a polite smile. 

”Thank you,” Zayn says with a smile of his own and expects the girl to leave, but she doesn’t.

”I’m sorry to bother you, but aren’t you the couple who came by here a year ago, or something like that?” she’s blushing when she asks this, but not nearly as much as Zayn is.

”Possibly,” Liam laughs awkwardly, scratching at his neck. 

”Yeah, I thought I remembered you, with what the bathroom incident and all,” her face is beet red, as if she’d just realised what she’s said.

Liam coughs and Zayn takes a bite out of his burger to avoid talking.

”Anyway,” she rushes to say, ”you look really cute together and, and enjoy your meal.” 

With that she leaves them alone at the table, only for them to snicker silently at each other. It’s all pretty bloody ridiculous, how life works out sometimes, Zayn thinks. Liam is sitting right in front of him, more alive than ever, smiling and talking with animated moves and everything, and it’s not like everything’s solved but it’s perfect. 

”Tell me about _Pillowtalk_?” Liam’s eyes lock with Zayn’s and Zayn has to look away, even though he’s smiling a little. 

”Well,” he begins, taking a bite out of his Big Mac, ”it’s about the feeling you have when having sex. And don’t you dare laugh, because it’s not about getting boner and fucking – well, not solely about those.” 

Liam nods for him to go on, his eyes interested and his body leaning a bit forward. 

”It’s about the closeness, too. About the moment when you feel you’re completely safe with someone, in their arms, like,” Zayn has to take a moment to try and find the words, 

”Hmm, you know, the moment you’re, kinda like, fighting for the dominance or whatever, and you feel so full of light, full of something bright yet consuming and it feels like you could fly away, but the other person is grounding you? You feel like you’re floating, but in reality you’re just in sync with the other one. Your bodies move together, but so do your hearts. Poetic, I know.”

Liam has stopped chewing and he’s just looking at Zayn, blinking. Zayn can see him swallow, and for some reason it gives him the goosebumps, good kind of goosebumps. 

”But yeah, uh, something like that,” Zayn flits his wrist before taking another bite off of his burger. 

Liam visibly shakes his head and then nods.

”Yeah, sounds good, like, you’ve thought about it. A lot,” Liam chuckles, a little nervously if you ask Zayn. 

”Well, I’ve had the time. I’ve been building it in my head for years now,” Zayn admits quietly, not exactly looking at Liam in the eye.

For some time it’s quiet as they eat, the atmosphere relatively comfortable, but soon Liam starts talking about other things, like their families and what not, which Zayn is grateful for. Even if he’d want to go through everything with Liam, he doesn’t think he could do it right here and now. 

Just the fact that Liam let him walk back into his life like this is overwhelming and amazing, but he doesn’t want to get greedy, doesn’t want to scare Liam away or anything. Even  
if Liam will never see him as more than a friend or an old pal, he’ll be happy. 

They finish their burgers and leave the building, Liam assuring he can get them two cabs, even though Zayn offers to pay Liam’s share if they’d just take one cab.

”It’s just better if I take my own,” Liam finally says when Zayn’s still insisting. 

His eyes are kind, but they hold a certain firmness in them. Zayn ducks his head, smiling, and nods. 

”Thanks for tonight, though,” Liam says, his hands stuffed in his pockets much like Zayn’s.

”No, thank you. I have been fretting about meeting you for days, to be honest. You were amazing, really,” Zayn nods resolutely, not leaving Liam any room for arguing.

”It’s nothing. I never wanted to separate in bad terms, I was just mad and then too proud and stubborn to contact you, sorry about that,” Liam admits quietly, a smile still grazing his lips.

”I know the feeling, mate, it’s alright. All forgiven?” Zayn holds out his hand for Liam to take.

Liam doesn’t take the hand, he gives it a glance before pulling Zayn in for a hug, his strong arms wrapping around Zayn’s petite shoulders. Zayn can feel Liam sniffing his hair, and it makes him tremble with so many emotions. 

He’d never been weak, not for anyone else but Liam. So many thoughts run through his mind, but among all of them the most colourful is _love_. The exact kind of a love he felt during those nights when he lied underneath Liam, their hands pressing together above his head, their foreheads leaning on each other, their eyes locked. Sticky bodies entwined, tattoos lining up: the haze.

”You are amazing, Zayn,” Liam whispers into his hair, his voice a bit rough due to the time, the hours spent awake. 

Zayn wants to argue, but it doesn’t feel right. He holds on tighter and nuzzles his nose in Liam’s jacket, taking it all in. He feels alright, not lonely, not scared. 

”I love you,” Zayn’s voice is silent, quiet enough that he’s not sure if Liam can even hear him. 

They separate, Liam’s smiling, his eyes clearly wet with unshed tears. He doesn’t try to wipe them away, he just cradles Zayn’s other cheek and waves his hand for a cab to pull over. 

”I’m flying back tomorrow,” Zayn says, taking Liam’s hand away from his cheek and holding it in between his hands. 

Liam nods, ”Have a safe flight,” he mumbles, opening the door for Zayn.

As Zayn sits in the back seat, Liam holds on to the door, his eyes flitting away from Zayn’s face for a moment. It all feels resolute in a way, but somehow Zayn feels peaceful. He wants to cry, but only because he wants to stay, and he knows he can’t. 

Liam leans down, his hand resting on Zayn’s shoulder. In his eyes Zayn can see so many different emotions dancing, and he wants to clear it up, all of it. But he doesn’t. Liam gives him a full-blown smile, before he leans in, closer.

”Finish the song.”

With that, the other leans all the way in and presses his damp lips on Zayn’s. It would be a terrible cliche to say that it feels like fireworks and volcanoes erupting, but it’s pretty bloody close, Zayn thinks. His arms go to wrap around Liam’s neck, his fingers entwining in Liam’s short brown hair. 

Their lips move in sync, Liam’s other hand stroking Zayn’s arm, the other holding the cab’s door open. The kiss is the epitome of _need_ and _missing,_ and to Zayn it feels like they are saying goodbye for real this time. 

Liam’s lips feel like forgiveness and sadness, and it’s _Liam_. Liam pulls away first, carefully licking on Zayn’s bottom lip before leaving a couple of inches between them. Their eyes meet and it’s alright, everything _will_ be alright.

Liam stands up, his breathing a little uneven.

”I love you too, Z,” Liam smiles once more, before wishing him goodnight and closing the door. 

It definitely feels final.

\--- 

It sounds amazing, just like Zayn had imagined it. They are all silent, and to some it would look ridiculous, five men sitting around a radio, dead serious like it’s someone’s funeral. Zayn is gnawing on his finger nails, though, and doesn’t think about such things. 

His voice sounds a little weird in his own ears, even though he’s listened through the whole album several times. Maybe it’s the radio, he thinks. 

_It’s our paradise and it’s our war zone._

The song comes to its end, the host’s voice coming through, praising the song. Someone turns the radio down a bit, and then they’re all hugging and laughing, congratulating  
Zayn. It feels absurd, but so bloody good, he feels like he could fly.

”Oh man, we’re so partying tonight,” Levi whistles, hugging Zayn once more.

Zayn’s about to agree, but his phone vibrates in his pocket and he has to excuse himself. He’s pretty sure it’s his mum calling to congratulate him on the single, which is why it’s such a shock to see Liam’s name on the screen.

They haven’t been in contact after Zayn left for LA and somehow the last time they saw just felt like the final step. Zayn hadn’t really even considered the possibility that Liam would call him.

He taps the green icon and raises the phone to his ear.

”Hi.” 

”Hi, Z,” Liam’s voice sounds a tad different, maybe a bit strangled.

”Wassup, Li?”

Some rustling is heard from the otherside of the phone, before Liam speaks again.

”I, well. I heard your single just now. _Pillowtalk._ It’s- It’s a really great song, Zayn. You did an amazing job, really.” 

Zayn has gotten a lot of praises for this particular song, from the producers and his friends, but Liam’s comment warms his heart in a different kind of way. Knowing that Liam knows the song is about him, knowing he knows what the song is actually about, it makes a difference.

”Thanks, Liam,” he mumbles bashfully.

It’s silent for another moment.

”I—,” Liam begins, then hesitates for a second, ”I bought a ticket to LA. I want to see your face when you sing that song to me, Zayn.”

Zayn swears his heart stops beating for a minute. His mouth feels dry like a desert and his mouth can’t seem to close anymore.

”And then, then I want to fuck you into the bed, show you that paradise you were singing about,” Liam’s voice is husky and rough, and Zayn’s heart isn’t in its place anymore, it has beaten it’s way out of his chest.

Liam’s breathing is heavy, Zayn can hear it through the speaker. His head is spinning, his stomach swirling with arousal, his chest swelling with love. 

”You—,” Zayn swallows, glancing back at his rowdy friends and colleagues, ”Yeah. Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was a difficult write. I intended it to be only couple thousand words, but it wouldn't end and it kinda ruined the whole fic. But, as is known, I'm not too picky about what I post. so. there you go. bye.


End file.
